The Hawai'i That Had Never Been: A Mountain That is Younger Than Me, Mauna Ulu

Mauna Ulu, a mountain that originated between 1969 and 1974

So much of geology is incremental. A rock slides from a cliff top, a river carries sand grains downstream, a glacier slowly pushes debris down a mountain canyon. Each of these minor events add up to major changes to a landscape over millions of years: mountains disappear, lakes and seas fill with sediment, canyon gorges are carved. But to a human observer, the changes are invisible. We simply don't live long enough to see the changes that take place in geologic time.

Hawai'i, especially the Big Island, is different. The entire island is less than a million years old, not even 1/4,000th the age of the planet. Because the island sits atop a hot spot, volcanism is a near constant activity, and volcanism leads to major and rapid changes to the landscape. In this current blog series, we've been talking about the "Hawai'i That Was", the environment that existed prior to the arrival of the Europeans, and before the arrival of the Polynesians. But when we look at volcanic activity at Kilauea on the Big Island, we are looking at landscapes that have never existed before. They are new lands.

That's not to say that much is destroyed in the making of new landscapes. The basaltic lava that emanates from the vents along the flank of Kilauea's east rift does a lot of destruction as it flows towards the sea. Take a look at the mound of lava in the picture above. It's a lava tree, formed when lava flowed past a living tree, and congealed around the burning trunk. The level of the lava dropped, but not the solid material around the former tree. The original Hawaiian thought these to be the lithified bodies of humans (although the one above looks much more like a cat).   

My last post on the subject was a discussion of how kipukas preserve a bit of the world that was, prior to the eruption. I said that we visited two of them, but I later remembered that we explored two others as well. It was a trail near Chain of Craters Road that took in two volcanoes, Pu'u Huluhulu, and Mauna Ulu (this is a different Pu'u Huluhulu than the one on Saddle Road).

About 500 years ago, a mildly explosive basalt eruption produced a cinder cone now called Pu'u Huluhulu ("shaggy hill"). Over time, intense weathering of the basalt cinders produced a rich soil that allowed the growth of a rainforest. The forest covered the surrounding landscape too, but that changed not long ago. In 1969 eruptions began along the rift zone that produced lava flows for five years, the longest sustained eruption ever recorded (this record as since been broken by the current Pu'u O'o eruption that started in 1983 and is continuing today).

The lava flows filled around half of the craters along Chain of Craters Road, and covered the road too. The flows piled up against Pu'u Huluhulu as well, but weren't thick enough to overwhelm the hill and the rainforest that covered it. The forest survived as a kipuka. The trail climbs to the summit of Pu'u Huluhulu, and provides what is said to be a spectacular view of Mauna Loa, Kilauea, and Mauna Kea. I'd love to show pictures of the view, but one doesn't get to control the weather when traveling to the islands. We spent much of the hike in a rainstorm with a low cloud deck.

But there was something that we could see: a new mountain. Mauna Ulu is a 400 foot high shield volcano that came into existence while I was starting high school. It's hard to comprehend the pace of geologic change when it is incremental and slow, but it is also sometimes hard to believe how fast things can happen too. There are at least four mountains in the United States that didn't exist when I was born in 1957: Pu'u Pua'i in Kilauea Iki, Pu'u O'o, Mauna Ulu (below), and...the dome in the crater of Mt. St. Helens in Washington state! Rapid geologic change is not confined to the Big Island of Hawai'i...

The hike to the top of Pu'u Huluhulu is mostly level, with a steep climb at the end of a 1.25 mile trail from just off Chain of Craters Road in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park. Don't miss it if you are ever in the park, and do it on a sunny day. I'd like to see the view!

The Hawai'i That Was: Living on Uncertain Ground - The First Human Wave Arrives

The southeast coast of the Big Island of Hawai'i is a barren blasted land. One can blame it on the lack of rain, but though it is arid, rainfall is plentiful enough to support forests nearby. One only needs to look up the Holei Pali to know right away what the problem is: it's ground zero for the basalt flows emanating from the Kilauea shield complex. These slopes have been covered repeatedly by eruptions, most recently from 1969-75, and during the ongoing eruption that began in 1983. As we will see, each eruption is a paradox of creation and destruction.

The pali, or cliff, belies the description of a shield volcano with gentle slopes. It turns out that the southeast slope of Kilauea is sliding slowly into the sea, and the cliffs are actually giant fault scarps. To most people, "faults" means earthquakes, and there have been some powerful events in this area, including a 7.9 magnitude quake in 1868, and a 7.2 magnitude tremor in 1975 that killed two people.

We were headed down Chain of Craters Road in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park on the second day of our recent journey. The class, a hybrid course covering geology and anthropology, was having a first look at some of the archaeological sites on the Big Island, and as we looked around, it was hard to imagine living in this strange and ever-changing landscape. There is no development along the road, and yet, if you come across old maps, you will find a string of place names along the route: Kalapana Garden, Waha'ua Heiau, Royal Gardens, the Queen's Bath, the Black Sand Beach of Kaimu, and a national park visitor center. They are all gone now, buried in basalt lava flows. It's a tough land.

A section of the old Chain of Craters Road buried by lavas in the 1969-74 Mauna Ulu eruptions.

And yet, people have lived here, and for hundreds of years. Despite the lack of water and soil, despite a lack of coastal access, there are hundreds of archaeological sites that have not yet been buried beneath the advancing lava flows. The original Hawaiians were Polynesian voyagers, probably from the Marquesas Islands, 2,500 miles to the south (although legends speak of an earlier race of people, the Menehune). The timing of their arrival is debated, with estimates ranging from 1,700 to 800 years ago. Aside from rich fishing along the shorelines, there was little food for the colonizers, but they brought their own plants and animals to assure their survival: taro, breadfruit, banana, coconut, as well as pigs (pua'a) and chickens (moa), and unfortunately, rats. We checked out a small village site that was partially buried in the 1969-74 eruptions (below), and then headed to the Pu'u Loa Petroglyph Trail.

The arrival of humans on the islands heralded huge changes for the native plants and animals. For millions of years, the flora and fauna had evolved in isolation, and had few defenses to the effects of the grazing of pigs and the predation of rats. The first wave of human colonization resulted in extinctions or vast declines in the populations of native plants and animals, especially the birds.

What we know of the culture of the first Hawaiians comes from oral traditions, historical writings since European contact, and archaeological investigations of the older sites. More information comes from linguistic analysis of the Hawaiian dialect. To me, the amateur, the most fascinating hints of the past come from the intersection of humans with the rock: petroglyph art. The barren coastal plain at Pu'u Loa has the largest collection of petroglyphs on the island, with at least 23,000 individual carvings.

A relatively level trail crosses 0.75 miles of the basalt flows to the petroglyph site, where a boardwalk protects many of the carvings. Our ranger guide led us farther up the slopes to another field as well. The rock carvings carry a tremendous amount of religious and cultural significance, especially in a society that did not have written records (although oral histories are extensive). 

I try to imagine what a revelation the Big Island was to the first Hawaiians. The Polynesians may or may not have had a cultural memory of volcanism, but the Marquesas Islands were not one of the active chains where they would have seen volcanoes in action. What did they think of these blasted plains of lava in a place where plants should have been growing? What did they think as they witnessed their first eruptions, and perhaps the destruction of some of their villages? It must have been a profound and terrifying experience.

We reached the end of Chain of Craters Road and had a look at the Holei Sea Arch and the rugged coastline. This was not the stereotypical white sandy beach with surfers and high-rise hotels. It was a violent battleground between ocean waves and volcanic rock. The lava flows destroy human developments, but they also create new lands, providing a balance to the constant destruction brought about by by the raging sea.

Pele is a Capricious Goddess...Part One (A Return to the Realm of Fire)

Note to my Geology 190 Students: this IS NOT a picture from my current visit. Lava is NOT flowing this way right now. I offer NO GUARANTEES that anything we see on our trip in two weeks will be anything like this. The reasons are described below....

That's a much younger version of myself, from 2002

For everyone else: I wish you could join us! We are headed to the Hawaiian Islands in a few weeks so I am revisiting some posts from 2009, when our students last joined me. I've made some changes to the original post and added lots of photos. 

My very first sight of flowing lava, 2002, Chain of Craters Road

Pele is the volcano goddess on the Hawaiian Islands, and she is a powerful deity in the lives of the islanders. Think about it: the only substantial piece of land above sea level for thousands of miles in all directions is the result of volcanic eruptions that built the islands up from ocean crust lying beneath 3 miles of ocean water. All existence on the islands starts with volcanic creation, and all is lost when the volcanoes ultimately die out and fall prey to the waves and weathering. These beliefs demand a certain amount of respect when paying a visit to the islands.

An offering to Pele at Halemaumau, 2002

The title of my post is meant in a slightly humorous vein, but my experiences in four trips make me start to wonder. Let me explain...

My first trip to the islands was in 2002, and I was full of hope that I would get a chance to see a lava flow, even though there seemed little chance of it from reading the 2002 status reports from the Hawaii Volcanoes Observatory. Lava had not reached the ocean for many months, with activity confined to the region around Pu'u O'o many miles from any roads or trails. Then, just prior to my plane flight, lava started flowing rapidly down the slopes of the shield, and began pouring in a spectacular manner over the Pulama Pali (a 500 foot fault scarp/cliff) and onto the coastal plain...only a mile from the end of Chain of Craters Road! At one point seven streams of lava were pouring over the cliff! And the lava was now crossing the coastal plain on the way to the sea. I was going to see an incredible show!

The U.S. Geological Survey took this photo the day I arrived on Hawai'i, June 11, 2002.

But....

The lava flow had started the largest forest fire to occur in the park in 15 years. And the fire fighters had to close Chain of Craters Road to provide access for their fire-fighting equipment. I was not going to see the lava flow! I was crushed, frustrated beyond reason!

One day later, it was still spectacular to see.

But...

Being a Californian, I expect that firefighters work day and night to fight fires, but Hawaii was different. The crews shut down at 5:00 PM, and went home for a nap. The road opened. I, and hundreds of other people drove the road in one long stream of cars, and started hiking over the older flows towards the new flows, now only a quarter mile from the ocean. We could walk right up to the edge of the oncoming flow and feel the intense heat. It was not moving fast, only a few inches a minute, but it was hypnotic. There is nothing quite like standing at the edge of a new creation, knowing that this was how these islands came to exist, one flow after another, after another until they are tens of thousands of feet thick, finally emerging from the sea. The new land provided a platform for the survival of the living flotsam and jetsam that once every few thousand years washed up on the island. These pioneers eventually evolved into the complex ecosystem we see today in Hawai'i.

Lava at night is other-worldly

This was not the first time I would experience Pele's fire. I've made a number of journeys to the islands in the years since, and every visit to Pele's realm was unique, and in one particular instance, downright mysterious and a bit mystical.

In the next post: Pele gets moody...

Where are the Ten Most Incredible Places You've Ever Stood? My Number 6: I stood in a place no one else can ever stand, at Pu'u O'o

Yes, Hawai'i gets two spots on my top ten list of the most incredible places I've ever stood. A few days ago I talked about my wonderful adventure in the swamps of the Alaka'i Plateau on Kaua'i, but today we'll hear about the Big Island, and the rather incredible volcano there that has been erupting continuously now for thirty-one years, since 1983. The ongoing eruption of Kilauea and its satellite vent Pu'u O'o is the longest known period of activity in the history of the volcanoes of Hawai'i.

It was June of 2002 when I reached the Hawaiian Islands for the first time in my life. I had spent the first fifteen years of my academic career learning to teach and ignoring any kind of writing or research, but I finally decided to submit an abstract and give a presentation at a meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science on the Big Island. I anxiously watched the lava flow reports for months ahead of time, but little was happening with the volcano. It was essentially a time of simmering around the summit region of Pu'u O'o, and any chance of seeing active lava flows would require miles of hiking over practically impenetrable forest and rock exposures.

Then, in an incredible moment of good timing, the May 12th Mother's Day Flow began, and a huge river of lava began to make its way down the south flank of Kilauea. In a matter of weeks it was approaching the final pali (gigantic fault scarp/cliff) before reaching the coastal plain. On the day my flight landed in Hawai'i, the U.S. Geological Survey posted the picture you can see below (in case you have trouble with the perspective, the cliff in the photo is several hundred feet high. I was beside myself with anticipation. The lava was only a mile away from the end of the highway!

Source: U.S. Geological Survey

The timing was unique for several reasons. Because the flow was advancing towards the sea and making a new path, it had not yet formed a system of lava tubes which often hide the flow from sight. And as unintuitive as it sounds, the lava was not as hazardous as one might think. The advancing flow was so slow that the National Park Service was comfortable with park visitors walking right up to the edge of the lava.

Still, one has to be careful. One never knows when a fault might suddenly appear on a park highway (note the sign above). And strangely, in the way that all signs have a story, this was a place where a lava flow once burst out right onto the highway, in front of a very surprised vulcanologist!

I was in for a crushing disappointment, though. The advancing lava flow had started the biggest forest fire in Hawaii's history. The road providing access to the lava flow was closed for firefighting operations. I was devastated to say the least. Here I was, on the island for the first time in my life, the lava was easily accessible, and I wasn't going to get to see it...

I didn't know about Hawaiian attitudes towards fighting forest fires, though. Here in California fires are a serious business with an "all hands on deck" approach that has firefighters working night and day until the fire is out. Since this fire was not threatening homes or structures, the firefighting teams knocked off at five o'clock and went home for a beer or something. They opened the road! We joined the long traffic jam in a headlong rush down Chain of Craters Road to the beginning of the "trail" to the lava flow. I was wondering what kind of parking lot they had down there on the old lava flows. I soon found out. There wasn't one.

What happened instead is that one drove to the end of the road, did a U-turn, and then drove back up the road until a space appeared to park in. As we drove back up the road, my hike went from one mile, to two, to three. At least those extra miles weren't on rugged lava flows. I got out and quickly started down the road, filled with a sense of anticipation that I suspect only a fellow geologist can understand.

The "trail" was a set of yellow markers glued to the surface of the lava flow. It was something of a relief that the flows were of the smooth pahoehoe lava instead of the very rugged a'a type. I made good time running (yes, running; don't tell my wife about this) towards the lava flows. I was quickly becoming aware of the reason Hawaiian lava flows are best seen in dusk or at night. The incandescent rock is easily obscured in bright sunlight. At night, it turns into a light show.

I soon realized that I had active lava flows on three sides of me, and small fires were burning where the lava was engulfing shrubs. And then I was there at the leading active edge of the flow. It was one of the most unusual moments of my life. There just isn't anything that quite prepares you for standing inches away from molten basalt. It wasn't scary so much as it was hypnotic. I couldn't help staring at it in wonderment. This might be hard for some of you to believe, but for a few moments I forgot I was holding a camera and a video recorder. That didn't last long, because in mere minutes I was snapping away.

This was one of my first journeys with a digital camera, so I had a bit of trouble getting sharp pictures in the dim light from sheer ignorance of the capabilities of my camera. I got a few half decent shots of one of the most awesome events I had ever witnessed. Oh, but how I wish I had been carrying the camera I have today. I guess I'll just have to wait for the next big eruption!

When I was younger, I had a preoccupation with the idea of being the only human ever to stand in a particular place. I knew that most inhabited parts of the world had been trod by generation after generation of people, so I wondered how many times in my life I had actually put my feet on a spot that no other person had ever stepped. After my adventure in June of 2002, I know that I was the only person in all of human existence who ever stepped on a small plot of rock at the leading edge of an active lava flow. The rock had only existed for a few minutes when I stepped onto it while preparing for a picture. It was engulfed a few short moments later by the advancing basalt.

The lava began pouring into the sea just a few weeks later, in July of 2002. Soon most of the flow was hidden in lava tubes, visible only through a few skylights or breakouts, or along the coast where the lava met the waters of the Pacific Ocean.